April 17, 2007 - page 3

I felt sweat on my forehead, as I looked at the people in the window who already had their bags situated and were staring back at me. “Okay, uh, we need to get on this train, sir,” I said. “No,” he said and crossed his arms. Lillian showed him the ticket and insisted there must be something he could do to help us. “No, no bikes.” “Yeah but…”

He started to back step toward the train. “Hey wait, what are we supposed to do?” I asked. “I am not of here. I am of Austria. I don’t know to help you. You must see the ticket office.”

“Everything’s closed, man!” I said with raised hands that suggested I thought he sucked at life. I don’t think that helped. “No,” he yelped as he waved to the front of the train with a large green light. He stepped onto the train, grabbed the handle, tilted his hat back and leaned at us, “No bike on this train.” It’s difficult to argue with a guy in a sharp blue conductor uniform and a large green light.

The train hissed, the steel wheels slipping, then catching and pulling the train slowly away. As the last car passed, our mouths dropped and pointer fingers shot after the train at the sight of three bikes hung neatly in a well lit bike car.

I had to punch something, so I opted for my pack. I heard my leftover cookies crunch, then looked up to see Catherine and Lillian checking the schedule on the wall. The next train toward Strasbourg would be arriving at 7:05 a.m.

We were united there on that platform, in a cold shivering, helpless rage. We finished discussing what we would do to this man if we encountered him again as the cold air began to bite.

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